The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen (8 page)

Playing mortal games in the rain held no appeal, and nobody was ready to go home yet, so we hung around the front hall, trying to figure out if we could play giant checkers on the squares. While we were talking, Airboy, the changeling from New York Harbor, came downstairs. He sat on the bottom step and watched us with his chin in his hands.

Remembering the scene in the lunchroom, I had to wonder why he was so interested in us all of a sudden. I was about to go right up and ask him when Danskin and Stonewall wandered by.

“Hi, kidlets,” Stonewall said cheerfully. “We’re going to the Mansion. Wanna come with?”

I immediately forgot about Airboy. The Mansion was a café catering mostly to dwarfs and kobolds and other underground Folk, but the kobold who ran it didn’t mind if Van Loonies hung out in the afternoons as long as we ordered milk (which was the only thing on the menu mortals could eat) and didn’t complain about the dirt. Mostly, it was the older kids with a lot of stars who went there. It was an honor for newbies like us to be asked.

Fortran played it cool. “I’ve got an important experiment cooking at home, but I guess I could spare the time.”

Mukuti didn’t know what cool was. “We’d
love
to.”

Espresso jerked her chin toward Airboy. “What about him?”

Stonewall looked startled, then shrugged. “Why not? Hey, Airboy. Want to join us?”

Airboy’s eyes, long and black and expressionless, rested on Stonewall’s face for a moment, then moved away.

“I guess not,” Stonewall said.

As we walked, we talked about what was up with Airboy. Mukuti said maybe he was under a spell of silence (except during lessons, Fortran pointed out); Stonewall thought he might even be half Folk.

“Maybe he’s just a snot,” I said. “Like Tiffany. What did you think of Talismans today? Who knew there were so many kinds of magic pins?”

At the Mansion, Danskin led us to an empty booth under a murky picture of dwarfs bowling. Since I was soaking wet, I took off my black coat and spread it over the back of my chair to dry before I sat down.

“Groovy threads, Neefer-girl,” Stonewall said approvingly. “Highwayman, with a side of dandy.”

Danskin winked at me. “He wants it for himself, you know. Tell him he can’t have it.”

“Of course he can’t. My fairy godfather would kill me.”

Stonewall sighed theatrically. “Bummer. A ruffled shirt, a pair of breeches, some silver-buckled shoes, and I’d be the grooviest Headless Horseman in the history of Miss Van Loon’s.”

“Hello?” Fortran was scornful. “You’ve got a head? There’s a
rule
about wearing glamours to school.”

“Three-oh-five,” Mukuti quoted helpfully. “Students must not wear glamours or alter their appearance magically.”

Danskin looked thoughtful. “How about a black burlap bag with a hat on top?”

“I want them to die screaming, not laughing,” Stonewall said.

I gave up trying to deduce what was going on. “What
are
you guys talking about?”

Espresso’s green eyes went round. “Hallowe’en, man. You dig? Costume competition, haunted house?” I shook my head. “How about trick or treat?”

“There aren’t any treats on Hallowe’en where I come from,” I said shortly. “In the Park, the ghosts get solid and the ghouls get frisky. You don’t even want to know what the Hunt does.”

“Sure I do.”

“Shut up, Fortran.” Stonewall turned to me. “So what do you do?”

“Astris invites some friends in and we tell stories.”

“Boring,” Fortran said, then winced. “Ow, Espresso, that hurt! I’m sorry, Neef, but it doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” I said. “It’s supposed to be comforting.”

Espresso’s face took on her poetry-reciting look.
“ ‘From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, good spirits deliver us.’ ”

“At Miss Van Loon’s,” Stonewall said, “we have a different philosophy. Hallowe’en is the bash of the year. We stay up all night and there’s a day off afterward.”

“And that helps how?” I asked.

“Well, Folk hate being laughed at. We wear scary costumes and eat too much sugar and play games and scream a lot, but it’s all a big joke. And the Folk know it, too.”

Danskin laughed. “Either that, or they’re more scared of us than we are of them.”

“We don’t bother with any of that at Columbia University,” Fortran announced. “We’re too sophisticated.” Everybody looked at him. “Okay, we do costumes. But only because it’s fun. I always have the best costume. This year, I’m going to be a monkey warrior.” He paused. “Or maybe an evil wizard. I haven’t decided yet.”

Mukuti bounced happily. “Last year I was a demon, with big tusks and everything. Nobody even knew it was me.”

“And that’s Hallowe’en?” I asked. “A bunch of kids running around dressed up like Folk?”

“Scary Folk,” Danskin reminded me. “And there are special rituals. Tricks and games and stuff.
The Big Book of Rules
takes a real beating sometimes.”

Light dawned. “I get it!” I said. “Hallowe’en is for getting even. Did you guys challenge anyone?”

Everybody got very quiet. I looked around the ring of startled faces. “No challenges? But Tiffany said . . . ”

“Tiffany?” Danskin asked blankly.

“Yeah. She challenged me to summon Bloody Mary with her. At Hallowe’en. In the girls’ bathroom.”

Espresso laughed doubtfully. “You’re busting our chops, right?”

“No-o.”

Stonewall said, “You seem awfully calm about this. Do you actually know who you’re dealing with?”

“I’m not calm. I’m mad. And I already
know
Tiffany’s evil.”

“Not Tiffany,” Danskin said seriously. “The
other
one.”

I wasn’t about to admit there was a supernatural somewhere I’d never heard of. “What’s to know? She’s called Mary and she’s all bloody. Standard-issue bogeywoman. No biggie.”

Espresso shook her head. “Either you’re the Girl Who Didn’t Know What Fear Was, or you’re out of your ever-loving mind. Possibly both.”

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me about Bl—”

Espresso’s hand clamped over my mouth. “Don’t! Just don’t.”

I wiggled my eyebrows to show I wouldn’t. Espresso withdrew her hand. “What’s with you guys?”

“We don’t want to take any chances,” Stonewall explained. “Saying her name might call her up. She usually appears in mirrors, but lots of things reflect. Liquids, picture glass.” He glanced up at the bowling dwarfs.

“The changelings from Spanish Harlem call her the Angry One,” Mukuti said helpfully.

“Okay, tell me about the Angry One.”

Everybody leaned in real close and whispered at me, more or less at once.

“She’s a nightmare.”

“She comes out of the mirror and rips your face off.”

“She scratches you with her long claws.”

“She kills you dead.”

Most bogeys just hide under your bed and moan. My stomach felt cold. “Why summon her, then?”

Stonewall sat back. “She’s supposed to show you your future, if you stay alive long enough to ask.”

“If she even shows up in the first place,” Danskin added. “She’s not exactly predictable.”

I took a mouthful of dirty milk and examined my choices. If I backed out of Tiffany’s challenge, I’d be safe. And Tiffany would have some new names to call me, like “coward” and “dealbreaker.” I’d rather risk having my face ripped off. Especially since I didn’t think it would really happen. If Tiffany thought she could handle this Bloody Angry Mary person, then I could, too.

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine what?” Danskin asked. “Fine you’re going to tell her you changed your mind?”

“Fine, I’m going through with it. If I don’t go through with it, Tiffany will get even more unbearable than she already is.”

 

 

“W
ell, you certainly can’t wear it to the Equinox Reel.”

Astris smoothed the skirt of my spidersilk dress. It was ripped where I’d caught it on a branch falling out of the mulberry tree that morning.

“I thought spidersilk was the strongest cloth there is,” I complained.

“It was made with summer magic,” Astris said. “The strength’s gone out of it.”

I fingered the soft material sadly. The dress had survived all the wear and tear of a magical quest without so much as a rip or a wrinkle. Now, one lousy tumble off a not-very-high branch and the skirt was in shreds. Plus, the spidersilk had lost its glow and the leaves and flowers woven into it had turned brown and brittle.

“Don’t worry,” Astris said soothingly. “A fairy godmother can always come up with something to wear to a dance—it’s what we
do
, after all.”

I ran upstairs, changed into jeans, and ran down again, expecting a ball gown. What I got was dinner. While I was eating roast chicken, mushroom pie, and peas from Satchel, Astris nibbled cheese and told me about her afternoon boating with Mr. Rat. Just as I was about to burst with impatience, she handed me a silver walnut.

“Oh, wow, Astris. A Dress Silver as the Moon!”

Astris’s whiskers twitched. “I found that walnut at the back of a drawer. Judging from the state it was in, it’s been there a lot longer than a year and a day. There might be nothing inside but dust.”

The nut didn’t so much crack as disintegrate. One minute, I was holding a nut; the next my hands and arms were overflowing with fabric, heavy, slippery, and cold.

“Well, it’s not dust, at any rate,” Astris said.

The dress was a kind of dull iridescent pewter color with black streaks, and it smelled sharp and acrid. “It’s more like a Dress Gray as Rain.”

“Once something magical tarnishes, it’s never quite the same,” Astris said. “Do you want to try it on?”

We struggled with the mass of slithery fabric, looking for the top and the sleeves and then fitting me into them. The dress rustled and sighed, stretching and shrinking so it would fit me. When it was still, I spun around. The skirt belled out, then slapped heavily shut around my legs.

“Well?” I asked anxiously. “How do I look?”

“It’s a dress fit for a debutante,” Astris said truthfully, but her whiskers looked amused.

Convinced I looked like a complete troll, I gathered the heavy skirts and ran up the stairs to the landing mirror. My face was framed by two tarnished silver rolls sticking up from my shoulders like sugared doughnuts. The top was cut square right across the middle of my chest and fit like it had been painted on. I smoothed my hands down my silver skirt and shook the liquid folds cautiously. They let out a clear, tinkling chime and a metallic tang of tarnish.

I sucked in my stomach and ran my fingers through my hair. It sprang up again, wild as ever. Then I noticed something.

“Hey, Astris,” I shouted. “I have a shape!”

Astris scurried up the steps, grabbed the neck of the dress, and tugged it sharply upward. The magic cloth obediently expanded to reach my collarbone. Then she patted the sleeves into a soft fluff, tore a strip off the hem, and tied it around my head with a bow over one ear.

“That’s better,” she said. “Come along now. We don’t want to be late.”

 

It was almost full dark when Astris and I took our places in the dance, with just a blush of deep blue in the west to remember the day by. At the center of the field, the Lady was a blaze of ruby and deep gold in a dress that fluttered like falling leaves around her bare brown arms and legs.

In the dance of the year, the Spring and Autumn Equinoxes are points of perfect balance. The Folk dance a reel around and around the Park, stepping—or floating, or slithering—behind each other. The trees fiddle on twigs and boughs; the rocks pound time; the grasses rustle. On a clear night, with the windows around the Park twinkling and the stars burning overhead, I can almost feel the world turning under my feet.

The music began. The Lady led and the Park Folk followed her, skipping and swaying over the grass. I closed my eyes and danced with them. Eventually, I’d get tired and drop out. But right now, I felt like I could dance forever.

Suddenly, the music faltered. My feet went on a few steps by themselves before stumbling over Astris, who squealed unhappily. Something was horribly wrong.

I wadded up my skirt and scrambled up the nearest tree.

The Folk milled aimlessly around Central Park Central, dazed and bewildered, bumping into each other, still half entranced. I climbed a little higher. In the center of the field I saw a clear space, and it in, the Lady, her arms crossed, her head thrown back, her crown of leaves blazing on the woven coils of her hair.

She was face-to-face with a mortal.